


Stories of the Second Self: Turf

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [60]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Moved to a new town and enrolled in another high school, Mark was promised by his foster parents that this was the last time. However, he struggled to fit in. Then, the school's star athlete singled Mark out for bullying because Mark exhibited the same werewolf hair growth pattern. Called to a fight, Mark had to decide whether to unleash his primal side or be pummeled before the whole school.
Series: Alter Idem [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Turf

"Doesn't the new kid look a little creepy to you?" Mark heard whispered from across the classroom.

Yet another school in another neighborhood, though Mark's so-called 'parents' promised him that this would be the last time. Norwood High School seemed a little rougher than the other five high schools Mark attended, each in different states. Even the math teacher at the front of the room looked like he could drag a student out any second and haul them in one hand straight to the principle's office.

"Yeah, what's with the hair?" another kid replied barely above mouthing the words soundlessly.

That was the thing, Mark heard all the whispers that other kids thought were out of his earshot. He could pick out people's scent when close enough. Though, Mark was sure he kept all that to himself. The other things-- well, Mark looked at people with an intensity that largely kept him out of trouble, so it wasn't any outburst of his own the made his foster parents move.

Trying to concentrate on the assignment, Mark worked at the example problem Mr. Crane had given everyone. He was supposed to solve for X despite it being in the denominator. Shit!

Mark's upper lip was tight with frustration, and he was clenching his mechanical pencil. Then he heard someone muttering to themselves, "Oh, multiple everything by X."

He tried that, and sighed with release when finding it made the algebra equation look easier to work with. Mark then ran the quadratic equation, as per the day's lecture, and finally got the two answers for X.

"You ready, Mark?" Mr. Crane asked.

Suddenly aware everyone was waiting on him, Mark looked around and then up at Mr. Crane. "Ah, two and seven?"

"Yeah," Mr. Crane nodded. "That's good. Two and seven," and then addressed the class, "See, not every problem is going to look like a quadratic at first. You'll gonna have to poke at it and try some things to clean it up first. But in this chapter every one of your problems will be solvable with the Quadratic Equation."

When third period ended with the buzzer Mark started stuffing his book and pencil into his backpack. Most kids in school left things in their locker, but Mark had developed his parents' habit of being ready to leave at the drop of a hat. He was out the door along with everyone else, who had anticipated the period ending and gathered their things in advance.

"There's that new kid," one of the school baseball team players said, "What's with the hair? Does he think he's you, Ron?"

Glancing down the side hall the comment came from, Mark noticed the two baseball team members, one of whom had scalp hair growing from the back and sides of his neck, just like Mark. The only other people who grew out like that were his foster parents.

"Fuck're you starin' at?" The boy named Ron challenged.

Mark said nothing, and resumed walking down the hall. He heard Ron start up to follow him. Ahead and to the sides, Mark noticed other kids had spied the pedestrian chase.

"I said, what the fuck are you lookin' at?" Ron called to Mark.

"Nothing." Mark didn't turn around, though his blood boiled from anticipation of what was coming next. "Sorry."

There was a powerful tug at his backpack, but Mark's grip kept it from being ripped off his shoulder, though a couple of threads in the strap popped. Norwood High School had a reputation for fights, and even a couple gangs had members here, yet Mark's parents thought it was perfect somehow.

Mark at last turned and looked at Ron. He could tell Ron was hiding surprise that Mark held onto his pack, and that Ron also felt his status challenged. "Huh? What're you lookin' at, faggot?"

"I told you," Mark replied with a shrug, "Nothin'."

The phrasing of 'nothin' carried a hint of dismissal that Ron registered right away, when he got all up in Mark's face. "Come out by the baseball field, and I'll show you nothin'."

"Careful with that one, Ron," a girl called out from nearby. "I heard he was kicked out of five high schools because of kissing boys."

Mark could tell the girl was infatuated with Ron, and Ron's own subtle mannerism completed the connection, letting Mark know they were a couple. "She can have you."

Trying to walk away from yet another fight, Mark turned and then felt a grab on his shoulder. Already pissed off for several reasons, some a lot older than today, Mark reflexively grabbed Ron hands and twisted fingers cruelly when peeling off the hold.

Only Ron didn't wince, when a knuckle popped loud enough for other kids to hear it. Instead, Ron ripped his hand free and stepped up even closer. "Think you can take me, fucker?"

"You don't want to find out," Mark replied.

"Ooh!" Ron played it up for the audience in the hall. "You think you're bad-assed, huh. Baseball field. Now."

"I got another class period," Mark lied, since his was the first lunch period in the day.

"You're full of shit," Ron uttered under his breath, causing Mark to be confused when he added, "I know when people are fuckin' lyin' to me."

"Okay," Mark resigned himself to the situation. "You wanna go there, let's go there. Where's this baseball field? I don't go to the stupid games."

A couple of gasps from surrounding kids carried through the air together. Ron smirked at that. "Follow the crowds."

Ron and his friends led the way, but a massive gathering of other kids followed, many huddled around Ron's band of friends, but a few were curious about Mark. They hovered around him checking out the new kid Ron was going to give a beat down.

Someone snapped a photo of Mark with their phone. "Just want it for the yearbook memorial. You really screwed with the wrong guy."

Mark ignored that, and kept walking outside and over to the baseball field. Ron's friends formed a semicircle behind him, and beyond that were all the other kids who came to watch.

"Okay," Mark waved at all this, "Now what?"

Again, Ron was mildly surprised that Mark wasn't afraid. From everyone else's expressions and postures, Ron had a reputation that Mark only now got a sense of. He'd have expected a school's football star to being the top tough guy, but here it was Ron.

"Not gonna do anything are 'ya, punk ass," Ron sneered.

"It gets ugly when we do it," Mark admitted, seeing that Ron really wanted that fight.

"Make a move, chickenshit," Ron called and raised a chin to it.

"Wow, you're actually nervous," Mark observed, realizing Ron's game. "You get 'em all worked up and scared that they'll have to fight you. Makes them easier to beat up. Just like a dog. You're only dangerous if I run."

Disbelieving gasps at Mark's statement came from several people, even one of Ron's buddies. "Oh Ron, you gotta kick his ass now."

Mark realized he still had his backpack on his shoulder and tossed it aside to give Ron his full attention. "You know, up until now I thought everyone like me was black. Never occurred to me there'd be a white one."

That befuddled Ron entirely, but then he suddenly tromped up to Mark and swung. Through as much of mom's training as by reflex, Mark had his forearm vertically swept across to deflect the punch. He popped two light punches in at Ron, who narrowly missed the first one, but not the second.

"Son of a...," Ron blurted out in reaction to the jolt to his face.

"Don't make it worse, Ron," Mark said.

It was the wrong thing to tell him, and that became clear the moment Ron's expression revealed he'd registered the words. Ron lightly hopped in, trying to look like a boxer himself, and threw a couple of lefts.

Mark didn't even try to evade them, but did act against the hard right coming his way. He had Ron's wrist, and realized that Ron proved himself quick enough to react and prevent the arm bar Mark was trying for.

The two tugged for a second, before Mark stepped in closer and threw a crossbody left palm into Ron's nose. From there, Mark twisted into the standing grappling position and drove his shoulder down into Ron.

In answer, Ron kicked his legs into the dirt around home plate, and positioned himself out of the second hold Mark was trying to apply. With a growl, Mark bent Ron's fingers backward while wrapping a leg around Ron's elbow.

Without warning, Mark felt a set of knuckles strike his face, and that really set him off. Like himself, Ron didn't respond to pain the same way most people did, and just got feistier. However, Mark could tell that Ron had yet to cross that line that would let the secret out for all the world to see.

Mark's growl grew deeper and raspier, but imagining his dad's voice in his head kept Mark from starting the process in full. 'Mark, you do this in front of people and everyone will know about us. Make sure you have a good reason first.'

While Ron struggled against Mark's repositioning, Mark slapped his right hand onto Ron's forehead and forced Ron to look into his eyes. Eyes that Mark kept low, so the other kids wouldn't know.

"See that?" Mark seethed, his voice not quite back up to its normal octave. "You see it? You're not there yet. Even when you are, know that I was there first, and I got way more time in than you!"

Ron stopped resisting, having seen how yellow Mark's glowering eyes became, and that other features were just barely starting to emerge before Mark could reign it in completely.

Letting go of Ron's hand and arm, Mark got up and dusted himself off before fetching his backpack. He didn't even look at the other kids. He didn't care. Ron got the message, even though his pals hovering closest to the fight missed it.

Over the next few months, Ron still acted like Ron, but he didn't push it with Mark. Then other kids at Norwood started to show signs of changing. By year's end, some fifteen percent of the student body turned out to be werewolves like Mark and Ron. However, Mark had to cope with this since he was little, which didn't appear to be the case with the others. Whatever was going on, Mark apparently led the way and became respected among the howlers of Norwood High.


End file.
